Reply to the post "Scars on the face"

The Church of the Two John and the Bell Tower, Vilnius University

This is the oldest university in Eastern Europe - 1579. It was founded by order of Stefan Batory, the first king of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, and the goal was to peacefully eradicate the Orthodox and Protestant population of Western Russia. For which the Jesuits were invited. Let us recall their huge collegium in the now Belarusian Pinsk, the capital of Polesie. Here, in Vilnius, they received the Church of both John (about it below), and from this the University began.

The buildings of the university block take up an entire block. In architecture, it is a mixture of Gothic, Renaissance, Classicism and Baroque. On the territory of the university there is a library, a Catholic church and even a botanical garden.

The buildings are still used for their first purpose - students study in them. It was Vilnius University that Adam Mitskevich graduated, so a monument to him in Vilnius is much more appropriate than in the same Krakow, where he has never even been in transit.

The entrance to the courtyards of the University is paid.

Like all medieval universities, this one also divides buildings into several courtyards: the Great Courtyard, the courtyards of the Observatory, the Library, Sarbevia, Dauksha, Daukantas, Arkad, Stuoki-Gucevicius, Mmtskevich, Stanevicius, Sirvydas, the Old Printing House and bursa.

Let's start our inspection from the Great Courtyard.

Large courtyard

Its other name is Skargi's courtyard. It was named after the first rector Peter Skarga.

The church of St. John, the bell tower with it, the northern and western educational buildings and aul go out here.

St. John's Church

St. John's Church, Vilna University

University quarter

The post refreshed memories that, in fact, are not forgotten anyway. In '95 I got married and in the summer of '96, immediately after graduating from the first institute in my life, I went with my wife and newborn son for distribution to the very north of the Sverdlovsk region, to the village of Polunochnoye, behind Ivdel, to work as a mine surveyor at a manganese quarry. vdel, Polunochnoye, Vizhay - these are exactly the places where Dyatlov's group perished and many old-timers still remember that mysterious incident that haunts modern conspiracy theorists, and they talk about it with pleasure. In general, our young family was given an apartment in a wooden house, divided into 4 parts for four families.

Each family has its own porch, a cold porch-hallway and two rooms with a kitchen. It's July, but I must say that the weather in the northern Urals is completely unpredictable, it changes instantly, and the cold weather is harsh in winter - the trees burst. Well, and, quite naturally, there is no central heating in the village with exclusively wooden private houses - our family nest can be heated only by heating two stoves. we need to prepare for winter now, in the summer. And the sooner the better. But how to prepare if capitalism has not yet come to such a distant North in '96 and no one will bring you chopped wood for any money? Which, by the way, the young specialist does not have. What to do, went to the mining department, ordered the forests, paid for it and brought us logs. Whips are freshly sawn trees, from the very base (butt) to the top. In these trees, only the branches are chopped off. And already very long, five or six meters.

After a while, these forest beauties were brought to us, and they were unloaded at the side of the road, near the porch. And how you will then saw and prick this good - sorry, but these are your personal difficulties. and it's hot outside, the forest lies by the road and dries up, but at any moment the rain can charge and then the tree will start to rot quickly. And what kind of wood from the rotten forest? So you need to cut and chop right now, or better yesterday. So I hired two hard workers with a Druzhba chainsaw to cut the whips into chocks (balans, if you call them correctly).

These hard workers came in a light drink and one of the working conditions immediately put forward that to speed up the work, the plan would be as follows: sawing goes from the thick part to the thin one, while one hard worker holds the whip near the thin part so that it does not hesitate too much , the second is sawing at this time, and the third should stand at the thick end of the tree next to the sawer and support it during the sawing process, and then drag the already sawn block to the side. The holding whip and the pulling one change from time to time so as not to get too tired. The third, as you might guess, was to be me. Refusals, and even from such a young person, are categorically not accepted. And so the three of us are working, everything is going well, and more than half of the work has already been mastered, when a hard worker working with a chainsaw trembled at the moment of sawing a particularly knotty log - the saw was led along a branch. But what is a mote? A knot is a knot of wood fibers twisted together, there is a large accumulation of already hardened resin and the wood hardness at the knot is several times greater than in any other place. Or, in short, the sawman could not hold the chainsaw, and at the very beginning of gnawing into the tree he led it to the right. He took me exactly to the place where at this moment it was me who was standing, and not his friend, and I was holding the end of the log to drag the sawn-off log. this picture will be in front of my eyes until the end of my life: I stand bent almost to the very ground and hold the thick end of the log, and the chainsaw with a chain moving like in slow motion slides from the place of the saw, breaks down the bark of the tree and everything also slowly flies into my side, flies a few centimeters from my throat and flies into the armpit of my right hand, protected only by a light T-shirt, unfolds the whole armpit to the bone, gushes blood, some red bits of unknown purpose are flying on the sides. And five meters away from all this disgrace, my young wife is standing on the porch in a light robe with a six-month-old son in her arms. Stands and looks at me. Eyes with horror splashing in them half-face, mouth open in scream, face as poor as chalk. The only phrase that escaped me at that moment, in order to somehow defuse the situation, calm my wife and protect her from fainting from a tall porch with a child in her arms, was: "It's a pity, they ruined a completely new T-shirt." From then on I vaguely remember that there was an ambulance, surgery, twenty-four stitches, sick leave. Everything worked out. Alive and healthy.

And he told his son (and then his daughter) that it was a trace from an enemy saber.

Reply to the post "Vladislav Listyev"

I don’t know why, but the death of Vlad Listyev is one of the events of my childhood, which is forever deposited in my memory. As I remember now: March 1, morning, my mother gathers me to the kindergarten, the antenna catches 3 channels (UT-1, UT-2 and SKET - perhaps they were called slightly differently), an electron TV, the news is on. Listyev's murder. Given the scarcity of television at the time, I adored the Field of Miracles and dreamed of getting there (I think, like many). I was afraid of this creepy screen saver with an incomprehensible head (and now it is even dumbfounded).

Maybe I would never have remembered this sad event, but I think the discussion of it was significantly influenced. At home, in the garden, in the shops. Everybody and everywhere talked about it. Having matured, I understood why. Vladislav Listyev is one of those few people who significantly influenced the leisure of ordinary citizens of the USSR / CIS, coloring the dull everyday life of the end of perestroika and the beginning of the turbulent 90s, adding at least some variety to boring life, while laying the foundation for several glorious traditions of domestic television. And his work lives on. It is a pity that his life ended so early and so tragically. Who knows how many more interesting projects he would have managed to create.

P. S. Naturally, swears at this head

Facial scars

I taught my daughter to dig holes in the snow, I felt like in an old cartoon where a little badger was taught to dig holes. Considering that we lived slightly beyond the Arctic Circle somewhere around 70 latitude, we had heaps of snow and quite naturally dug it all.

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